


The Measure of a Man

by idrilhadhafang



Category: Pocahontas (Disney 1995)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Missing Scene, Past Character Death, Radcliffe is An Asshole, less hurt/comfort more exploring what forgiveness means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 10:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30054021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idrilhadhafang/pseuds/idrilhadhafang
Summary: Thomas comes forward for his part in Kocoum’s death.
Kudos: 3
Collections: Allbingo





	The Measure of a Man

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Late
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. 
> 
> Author’s Notes: It’s not like writing Pocahontas (Disney) fic is my usual, but I’ve had this scene in my mind that’s bothering me a little.

  
“There is something I need to tell you.” said the young man. Wahunsenacah took him in — the same man that had taken over arresting Radcliffe in a moment of incredible courage...he was nervous. He was clearly anticipating the consequences. And as Wahunsenacah listened to the next words that came from his mouth (“I’m the one who killed that man.”), there was something in Wahunsenacah’s chest that flared up painfully again.  
  
It wouldn’t be any use. He could still remember his daughter’s words as she had shielded the prisoner with her body.  
  
 _“Look around you! This is where the path of hatred has brought us!”_  
  
It was true. Wahunsenacah had promised that he wouldn’t start any more killing. He had made that stand. Why Radcliffe had decided to try and start another fight anyway...  
  
And the prisoner, after everything Wahunsenacah had done to him, had sacrificed himself for him. Wahunsenacah didn’t know why. Perhaps the prisoner was of stronger, nobler character than he had initially believed.  
  
“Oh,” Wahunsenacah said.  
  
The young man continued. “I didn’t want to. I — I was looking for John, that’s the prisoner, and I came across this man...”  
  
“Kocoum,” Wahunsenacah said evenly. “His name was Kocoum.”  
  
“Oh.” The young man continued. “But I thought I was protecting John. I didn’t think it would make things worse...”  
  
“Why didn’t you come forward?” Wahunsenacah said. “We nearly killed an innocent man.”  
  
 _What had he nearly done?_  
  
“I was planning on it,” said the young man. "I thought...I don’t know what I was thinking. I suppose I do nothing but ruin everything...”  
  
“You didn’t.” Wahunsenacah could not say he liked, at all, what he had done to Kocoum. But he had acted out of devotion to John, out of a belief that he was protecting him. Good intentions, if a bad action. “What is your name?”  
  
"Thomas,” said the man. “John Smith...he was probably the only man here who was kind to me. He saved my life. When I fell off the ship coming here. I thought I could return the favor.”  
  
“And us capturing him...”  
  
“He took the blame. Probably to avoid me being...hurt.”  
  
The more Wahunsenacah took in about this John Smith, the more it made sense as to why he would do what he did. Why his daughter would love him with a sort of devotion that would end a war singlehandedly. Because John was willing to sacrifice everything, to put himself in harm’s way even for people he didn’t know, even for people who had previously hated him.  
  
“That is an incredible act of bravery,” Wahunsenacah said.  
  
“I thought I was helping.” Here, Thomas’ voice shook. “I thought, trying to save him...he would have done the same for any of us. Saved us. He’s that kind of man.”  
  
Forgiveness was not a straightforward thing. It was a relative thing. But Wahunsenacah could feel compassion, at least, for the man who had killed Kocoum. Thinking that he was repaying the favor to a man who had possibly been the only one to show him kindness.  
  
“I’m not much of a man,” Thomas said. “Radcliffe said that a man’s not a man unless he knows how to shoot...”  
  
“Do you think your leader has the right ideas of what makes a man?” Wahunsenacah said gently.  
  
“No. Even in London, people didn’t like him. He wanted to prove himself. Prove his rivals wrong. He thought that if he came back from the mission with riches, then people would stop laughing.” Thomas sighed. “You know where that led.”  
  
“You...” Wahunsenacah chose his words carefully. “You are much more the man he was. Coming forward, telling the truth about what you did, refusing to fire when he told you to, ultimately defying him and imprisoning him...does that not prove a man more worthy than his feat with a weapon?"  
  
He did not expect Kocoum’s killer to look so vulnerable, so very young. If one approached Wahunsenacah and asked him if he would expect the murderer of Kocoum to seem so uncertain, so remorseful, and to ultimately do what was right in the end...saying it was the last thing he expected would be being generous.  
  
“I don’t think anyone’s told me that before,” Thomas said.  
  
“Then truly they don’t know what makes a man either.”  
  
“Thank you.” Then, “Is John...”  
  
“Kekata is treating him.” If Wahunsenacah was to be honest, he did not know if John Smith would survive the night. Kekata was gifted, but the wound of a bullet was strange and different to treat, an unfamiliar concept, as unfamiliar as the settlers’ arrival in the first place.  
  
"Thank you.” Then, “What was...Kocoum like?”  
  
A sharp flare of pain, just for a moment. Then, “A brave warrior. Noble, steadfast, true. Serious, some would mistake him for humorless. He and my daughter clashed, especially due to her sense of playfulness and adventure. It was why we called her Pocahontas in the first place. Playful one.” Wahunsenacah smiled slightly. Then, “But Kocoum was a good, kind man.”  
  
Thomas swallowed. “Chief,” he began, “I am sorry...”  
  
“You made a mistake. A well-intentioned mistake, at that. I don’t like what you did. I do, however, think there is potential in you. Strength, honor — as a person.”  
  
It was not absolution. It was not straightforward forgiveness, but it was not the hatred covering for the pain he felt that had taken Wahunsenacah, made him act like, as he thought, lesser of a man. It was the promise of healing, an emotion that, simply, had come naturally. Decent people could make terrible mistakes. It did not mean they could not redeem themselves.  
  
Wahunsenacah looked towards the tent, where his daughter was speaking with Kekata before disappearing in. She stood tall, brave, true, his wonderful daughter who was so very much her mother’s image and her mother’s heart. And his heart ached for her. She deserved happiness, and so much of it. He would need to apologize to her as well, for pushing her away.  
  
 _“Because of your foolishness, Kocoum is dead!”_  
  
It had seemed logical, him saying it. All that hurt, all that anger — Wahunsenacah was not a stranger to death. He had experienced the deaths of his tribe in battle, the idea that when they warred with other tribes, not all of them came home. It was different, somehow, with Kocoum. Feeling the pain flare up.  
  
A familiar wind. Wahunsenacah knew, without a doubt, his wife was still there. He had felt her, when he had spared John Smith’s life. _Kocoum will always be with you, my husband._  
  
Wahunsenacah already knew. No one was ever truly gone.


End file.
